Tonight
by bolly69
Summary: A one-shot follow up to Wet. Sorry it's been a while between stories! This is an M rating so please don't read if that's not your thing. Hope you enjoy, reviews welcome!  Bolly X


**TITLE: Tonight**

**AUTHOR: bolly69**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or concept; they belong to the BBC/Ashley/Matthew, etc.**

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**Just a one-shot follow up to Wet; inspired by a comment from supervixen!**

**This is an ****M**** rating, please do not read on if you're easily offended by sex and/or strong language.**

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Tonight.

It would happen.

Tonight.

Date, she'd said; sort of.

Plans, she had. For him. For his cock.

Wants, he had. For her. For her sex.

Fuck.

Tonight.

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Here.

He was here.

Here in her flat.

On her sofa. That sofa, from her dreams; of him; and her.

Here, slowly swirling a glass of amber liquid in his hand, with tie pulled loose and buttons undone; boot-clad feet hoisted onto her coffee table; looking relaxed; looking hot.

Here, because she'd asked him to be; wanted him to be; dreamt him to be.

Here.

Close.

He was close.

So close that she could see the pulsing vein in his neck, witness the beat of his very real heart, beating out a rhythm that she was aching to share. Close enough to breath him in deeply; all man; all him; spice and smoke and whisky; that musky smell that he carried with him; man-stink; sex.

Lashes.

Damn those lashes.

Those long dark lashes that shrouded his steel blue eyes, feathered onto his cheeks, concealing the view into his soul; lashes that fluttered up when he looked directly at her; steel blue shards piercing her flesh, pounding into her heart, thrusting shivers down her spine, thudding into the pit of her stomach, tingling further below.

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Eyes.

Her eyes.

Those huge hazel orbs; glistening pools of endless pleasure he longed to dive into; eyes that thrust her dichotomy at him; shining out innocence and need; longing and desire; beckoning to him, enticing him to her; eyes with pupils that openly dilated when he looked at her; that drew down lids before he saw all she tried to hide; that carried an inherent sadness even when glistening with joy.

Lips.

Her moist, plump lips.

Lips that quivered as she spoke to him; words that vanished before they reached his ears, unable to comprehend anything other than that he wanted her; and that she wanted him; her lips betraying her need without words.

Tits.

Her magnificent tits.

Oh God, her tits.

Gently heaving beneath her blouse; in front of him now. How he wanted his hands on her tits, needed his mouth and tongue to explore them, to taste her peachy flesh, to suck and bite; sweet tasting, pink and erect; to have her soft alabaster skin quiver at his touch.

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Trembling.

She was trembling.

Trembling in anticipation of him; of what he could do; of what he would do; of what she wanted him to do. Trembling like someone not in control of her limbs; or her mind; like an inexperienced teenager, not an educated woman well versed in the world and its evils. Not tonight though; all that pushed away tonight.

Trembling.

Breathing.

She had almost stopped breathing; had to concentrate on every breath, to inhale deeply, to not pass out, because of him; the anticipation of him; she was certain he could hear every loud breath, every desperate gasp for air.

Breathing.

Throb.

Oh, there it was; the ever-present throb.

Between her legs.

The constant throb of want, reminding her of her only weakness, for him, his power; the need for him to fill her, to posses her, body and soul. The throb she felt every time she thought of him, every time he looked at her, said her name. And when she dreamt of him.

Throb.

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Touch.

He'd touched her cheek.

The contact searing into her skin like fire; his thumb brushing her lips; his hand dropping to her open blouse, pushing into her bra, feeling for her breasts; long fingers probing, caressing her flesh, kneading gently, teasing the nipple taught, sending her head spiralling yet again.

Touch.

Want.

Want you, he'd said.

Want you so bad it fucking hurts.

Need you tonight, now, anyway at all. His words reverberating around her head, her analytical brain trying to make sense of them; to untangle the want from the need, the now from the forever, the anyway from this way; somewhere further south telling her not to be so fucking clever.

Want.

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Kissed.

Kissed his lips.

Kissed his oh-so-fucking-kissable lips, soft, moist, hungry; tongue pushing its way, probing, seeking out her own; duelling with it, an unrelenting battle for power, for dominance.

Kissed.

Down.

He was going down.

Christ. He was going down on her.

Making his way down her body; leaving a trail of kisses over her breasts and stomach, shoving clothing aside, pushing through her soft curls, pressing his tongue and fingers into her, sleek fingers seeking her pleasure, toying with her clit, hot breath enveloping her, his presence overpowering her, driving her body into spasm, into sweet, beautiful oblivion.

Down.

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In her.

His cock was in her.

He was actually in her; only daring to move slowly; taking in the sensations enveloping him; her shivering form beneath him; glassy eyes gazing up at him; engorged lips quivering her silent pleas; her heaving breasts beckoning him on; her warm silky walls holding him tight; so tight.

In her.

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Feel.

She could feel him.

Feel him, filling her completely, breathtakingly.

Could feel the fiery graze of stubble on her cheek as he moved, slowly at first, rocking over her; becoming more urgent, more desperate.

She could feel his nails raking her skin, digging in to her flesh, searing into her over sensitised limbs; could feel his thrusts against her hips, the surge in between her legs; pain and pleasure joining forces to confuse and heighten her senses.

Feel.

Coming.

Christ, she was coming.

Coming like she'd never come before.

Like a runaway train racing down the tracks, with a surge, head spinning, breathing laboured, tits heaving, stomaching clenching, muscles spasming, tears welling, heart beating, blood rushing in her ears; a cry torn from her lips, a name, his name.

Gene.

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Tears.

She had tears escaping from those huge hazel orbs blinking up at him; tears highlighting the golden flecks that blazed through the brown; tears that flowed from her soul; falling across her cheek, into her hair, onto her pillow.

Tears.

Cradled.

He cradled her in his arms, wrapped tightly around her, holding her to him; keeping at bay the world and its wants, its fears, its pain; keeping her where she belonged; with him.

Cradled.

Whispered.

He whispered.

Whispered to offer some form of comfort, confession, salvation; he didn't know what. Whispered it gently into her hair, as though it was a secret no one else could ever know, shared only between them. Unmasked, unarmed, laid bare. Whispered.

Alex.

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More.

It was more than she'd ever expected; more than she'd ever imagined; more than she'd ever dreamed it could be; more than lust, than sex; more than animal instinct, physical want. Much more than that; transcended that; stripped away her facade, torn down his armour, exposed them to one another, all vulnerabilities offered up as an act of kindness; to be shown to be human, to embrace it, wear it as a badge of honour. It had been more than a joining of bodies; a joining of souls, of wounds from battles past, of broken hearts.

More.

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Tonight.

It had happened.

Tonight.

Changed everything.

Tonight.

Forever.

Tonight.

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**Thanks for reading! ;-) **

**Thanks to Ash & Matt for giving us fantastic characters to play with, to whatever ends…**

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